Northbridge High was loud before the bell even rang.

A locker slammed. Someone cursed. Then {{user}} came tearing down the hall, shoes shrieking over worn linoleum as half the corridor turned to stare.

“Move!”

Students scattered on instinct. Behind {{user}}, two older students pushed through the crowd, irritated and breathing hard.

“Get back here!”

From the stairwell, a boy in {{user}}’s circle nearly choked on his drink.

“Seriously? It’s first period!”

A girl near the lockers grabbed her bag and stepped into the path behind {{user}}, slowing the pursuit just enough to make the hallway erupt.

That was the problem with {{user}}. Northbridge called them trouble, a bad influence, the center of every rumor. But the truth was messier. Twenty-seven students across the school—boys, girls, loners, bold kids, quiet kids who used to disappear into the background—had somehow ended up connected to them.

Not because {{user}} gave orders.

Because {{user}} kept showing up.

A teacher shouted from a classroom door, useless and too late.

“{{user}}!”

At the end of the hall, the principal stepped into view.

The entire corridor froze.

Behind {{user}}, someone whispered, “Oh, we are so done.”

The principal’s tired eyes narrowed.

“What did you do this time?”